


Theia and Gaia

by jumbi



Category: Super Paper Mario (Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Chimeras, Gen, Genocide, Slavery, Tragedy, nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26341249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumbi/pseuds/jumbi
Summary: Before the Tribe of Ancients became the Ancients, before their mighty empires and their Pixl workforce... there were the Artificers, and their soul-powered robots.It is a tale of hubris.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys. this is what i've been working on since january. i'll put some special thanks and longer words at the end of the story. i will update ao3 alongside tumblr and deviantart, so new chapters will be up roughly once every two weeks or so.
> 
> this short story is about two characters that appear in an arc of my comic, "filling the void", when the gang stumbles across a dead world and becomes trapped there for a little while. a few people wanted to know more about the surviving robots and what happened to their world.

In a word: pandemonium. Infinite colors and faces swirled past, tiny shattered fragments of conversations and images that overwhelmed anything outside this moment. Thirty voices called out at random, incoherent, unable to form words. They raced across the frenzied space, bouncing off an invisible boundary to their new universe of jagged half-voices, murky images, a lack of scent… _Where were the scents?_

The voices paused- nearly thoughtful, even with no words for thought- as all at once they realized the missing sense. In the sudden quiet, new voices- distant, foreign, full- bubbled into the space.

“I told you. This one is doomed.”

“No, the eyes are still lit up. Look.”

“Do you know how much energy it takes to keep this thing running? The generator is already shorting. Do you want to cause _another_ power outage?”

“It’ll make it! Its Power Core isn’t even damaged yet.”

A pause. Then… “Fine. Three more minutes. If it doesn’t fuse, then we throw it out and stop wasting Head Merletaph’s grant.”

“She’ll kill you if she sees you threw out an uncorrupted, undamaged Power Core…”

_What does it mean?_

Again, the voices united in chorus against the chaos. Then, the chaos threatened to once again overtake them as thirty half-formed opinions lost track of each other, before they regrouped around their growing anxiety. Where was the smell of the fields- the metal- the caves- the heat- the livestock- the city? The voices faltered without any answers, and questions left the space.

 _We must work together_ , enough of the voices realized as one, and the crowd gathered its energy. There was no scent here, but they found some kind of extension. A limb. The voices poked together curiously, and the space twitched, shuddered, and fell. The fading images finally slipped away, curling into something more solid- like dirt settling in water- mixtures resolving in a beaker- tea leaves strained from the drink-

The space hung suspended several body-lengths from the ground. Or… not several, the limbs, they touched the stone below them already. Thirty voices turned their head to examine an arm. Knives settled inside white porcelain, new and unstained- like the most unnatural pottery-

“See? I told you. You have to be patient with these things.”

The space shifted, and the vision swung around to match. They found two flawless fork-legs on the side, bolted to the ground…

“Don’t tell me what’s what, _sophomore_.”

Ears. _Where are my ears?_ The space surged upward, but no outside motion followed. The head clumsily twitched, and the space fell again as thirty opinions scattered. A gentle rocking motion reconnected their attention, and the head turned once more, to the other side. Two more limbs rested against the ground, tilted at an awkward angle, not supporting the weight of the…

The body…

They couldn’t turn the head far enough to see what the back looked like, but they made out a tether leading upward out of sight, and some kind of white armor- some kind of exoskeleton- some kind of rigging-

The limbs again lost their support and the space hung briefly before regaining its balance. The tether. The head could not turn very far upward at all, but a similar shape across the room caught the voices’ attention. The metallic far wall provided a distant reflection, fragmented by a network of glowing loose curls and hard angles. Just behind the glow, the voices could see a harness dangling from the ceiling and supporting the bulk of…

The space wanted to blink in confusion, but it had no eye lids. An enormous white-armored bug stared back, resolving into easier view as the light faded. The space lifted its arm again, twitching the knife-fingers. In halting jolts, they came toward the face, gently touching a stone mask- a porcelain helmet- a sheet of metal against the anvil- with a hard _clink_.

“Mark it down, Mercy. Attempt one-thirteen at the Lazarus was, _finally_ , a success.”

“Is it violent?”

“It’s not coordinated enough for that yet. I’ll show you.”

Footsteps echoed across the metal and stone of the room. The head turned to watch two beings approach, their forms mostly hidden under thick, colorful cloths. The beings had small heads, and no visible ears- impossible to tell their intentions- what is their rank- why is there no scent-

“Stand up,” the taller one commanded. The space simply stared, as it drifted back and forth in the harness, its fork-leg joints swaying. Too many legs.

 _Don’t tell me what to do_ , the voices snarled, a few overpowering the crowd, _reveal yourselves_.

“I know you can understand me. Stand.”

The shorter one was focused on some kind of panel- sheet- stone- and handed the taller one a glittering object- sculpted rock- jewelry?- without looking up.

The taller one held up the gleaming piece of metal in a naked, pale hand. “Last warning. You’d best get to it,” the creature sneered.

The thirty voices easily came to an agreement, and the space let all six of its limbs go slack to rest fully against the harness. The being’s face hardened, and it pressed its long, skeletal thumb into the metal. “ _Stand_.”

The space jolted, once again overcome by chaos, the thirty voices screaming together in their sudden, unbidden desire to stand at any cost. The legs and joints straightened of their own accord, and once the buzzing shock wore off the space found itself upright.

“I’ll make a note. This one’s another troublemaker,” the shorter one sighed.

“Heh, well, we’ll see if it changes its mind when Head Merletaph gets a look at it.” The creature turned back to the space and pressed its disgusting, bald hand against the metal piece again. “Hold still.”

Again, the voices clattered against each other in a mess of shards and static, and the space found itself rigid.

“Don’t do that too much…” The shorter one clicked its tongue as it stepped forward and began moving its terrible, long-fingered hands around the harness. The space would have recoiled, if it could move.

“Your name,” the other creature began, pacing in front of the space, tormenting the voices with its ability to move- gloating over its victory- such insolence- just like the Warlord used to- “Is Lazarus. Whatever you were called before is nothing, now. You have been…” A pause as it rolled the word off its tongue, “ _captured_ by the Tribe of Artificers, and you now serve their purposes. By your sacrifice, we progress forward.”

“Left side clear.”

“We are located in a city called Underside, on a world called Douma. That’s right,” it hissed, showing some of its blunt teeth under the shadow of its hood. “You’re not even on your world anymore. You have no means of going home. So don’t bother with it. It’s just a waste of everyone’s time. And you do _not_ want to waste Head Merletaph’s time.”

The dazed voices coalesced briefly. This was… a prepared speech… The thoughts crumbled before they could agree on any conclusions.

“Head Merletaph is the leader here. The Mayor, the Warlord, the Den Parent, however you little rodents want to think of it. You do what she says, without question, no matter what anyone else tells you. If you don’t… Well.” The being waggled the metal piece in its hand. “Let’s just say you’ll do it anyway.”

“Right side clear. Let me check the head wires. Finish up.”

The taller one stopped pacing. “Don’t worry, it’s not all bad. Stay in line, and you’ll get treated better. We’re not like your Warlords. We’re simply very busy, and if you waste our time, there will be _consequences_. Now, come with us.”

The taller one lowered its metal piece and the space’s limbs released. It stumbled, struggling to balance outside the security of the harness. Thirty voices followed the glinting metal down into the folds of the creature’s shroud. The knife-fingers flexed, supported by a long protrusion at the wrist that reached all the way to the ground. But the balance… It could hardly stand, even with six legs. The space ached for a tail. The two creatures stayed far ahead, out of its reach, as it hesitantly picked its way across the stone floor and down the small step into the larger ring around the chamber. It wobbled and stumbled like a newborn- like one of the mounts, standing for the first time- _like my sister when she survived_ -

The brightness outside of the chamber was staggering. Thin whirring joined the voices as the eyes adjusted, bringing the city into focus, and focus the voices did. Across a great chasm, rows and rows of buildings etched the cliffside. Angling the head upward, they saw that this side of the ravine matched, except for a distant, enormous pillar that reached even above the lip of the cliff and pierced the sky. Bridges and long threads crossed the gaps, and distant white specks lingered in the air. The sky stretched in a thin line between the two walls, an unnatural blue-pink, it should have been the color of the _sea_ , what was this place?

The two creatures led the space along a narrow walkway. The head and eyes turned restlessly, tracking every moving thing, every shrouded figure, every porcelain monster. Ahead, the buildings clustered higher around the base of that great pillar. Chatter passed back and forth across the balconies and walkways, up and down the cliff side, interrupting the hushed, confused thirty voices as they struggled to find any one detail to agree on.

“Are you going to tell it-”

“What? No, that’s your job-”

Ah. The two leading creatures. Their bickering brought a center to the madness. The eyes flickered between the two of them, unsure which was talking. The shorter one turned back, found the space’s attention on it, and returned to its shuffling walk. It cleared its throat.

“Lazarus. Welcome to Underside- don’t fall into the mantle, there. You are a transport bot, designed for climbing and navigating the dense woodlands above. You will be collecting supplies from the surface settlements and delivering them to the Depot buildings on this side of the chasm.”

The space clambered to the edge of the balcony and, with the new length to their neck, the voices peered over the side. Below what seemed like endless layers of buildings, the bottom of the ravine was not dark, but rather radiated a hot light- molten- the _anvil_ \- like a thin thread of fire-

_The clang of the hammer pounding the metal against the anvil filled the hot room. Sweat drenched the weathered fur on Timur’s shoulders and head, blasted repeatedly with dry air from the furnace behind. He paused to lick his scarred paw, as he averted his eyes from the glowing metal and considered the shimmering air above it instead. All newborn weapons were too brilliant to stare at directly. It was a reminder of the basic respect owed to the warrior, to the battle._

_That’s what the proverb hung on the wall behind him proclaimed. He pulled his paw away from his mouth and reached absently for the emerald on the pedestal beside him. When his finger pushed into the burning hot air hanging in a loose sphere around the fully-charged gem, he hesitated. Best not to just grab it- he’d already lost two fingers. One more and he’d be working one-handed. You never quite knew what these things would do until the weapon was complete._

The voices paused. _Timur_ , they whispered, and one of them resonated in return.

“The Depot building is up this way,” the shorter creature prompted. “We’re passing through the R.P.C. so Head Merletaph can get a look at you.”

“You’d best remember,” the taller one added. “That’s where you drag yourself if a leg breaks off.”

A larger porcelain creature, a small body carried by enormous arms, lumbered by and momentarily blocked the space’s view of the two figures. The voices urged and pushed together, skittering their long awkward limbs to stay behind the monster, keeping it between them and the beings. But the body was weak and clumsy. They stumbled and scratched against the hard stone- no, not stone, too soft and rough-

The white-armored creature held out one of its mighty arms and steadied the space. They locked eyes for a brief moment.

“Don’t,” was all it said, before moving on, leaving the space with its back legs splayed, the voices scrabbling for comprehension.

“Well? Come on!” The taller one’s domineering tone was becoming grating. The voices reached to lay back ears and raise hackles they no longer had before giving up and stumbling back to the other two, jabbing the ground with their forked legs as they went.

The other being didn’t look up from its slate- slab- from its- whatever it was- but the taller one made a huffing noise. “Meridian,” it muttered. “It’s getting erratic…”

“We’re almost there. Just keep the controller in your hand, you can stop it if it gets too close.”

_Everything about the Den Father screamed “do not approach” as he reclined on his couch of furs and beads. His bristling fur exaggerated his already hulking form in the shadow he rested in. But Ezra was a messenger, and she had her news to deliver. Even still, her weight settled forward on her toes, ready to bound away if the Den Father even twitched. Her old, worn tunic caught uncomfortably on her mane. She pulled it down and adjusted her belt, then tiptoed forward and bowed her head, flattening her ears against her neck. She met his fiery bronze eyes, glittering in the darkness._

_“Sire… Princess Nechash has also succumbed to the Plague.”_

Each step on this strange stone sent a jarring shock up the knife-limbs. The sensation was not quite pain, but certainly not comfortable. _Ezra_ , hummed one shattered voice, among the rest.

Perhaps hearing the strained clacking behind them, the taller figure bowed its head. “Can you believe Karchner hasn’t replaced its walkways with concrete yet?”

“Karchner’s full of idiots, Mercy. The city could burn down and they still wouldn’t take the chance to fix the walkways.”

“They don’t have the budget for it anyway…”

“… keep wasting it on their teleporters and time machines…”

“We’re here,” the taller one’s voice cut into the space, drawing the voices back. “The Robot Processing Center.” It gestured with its horrible little hand at the building that jutted from the cliff side, blocking the walkway. A wide, tall entrance led into the side of the structure, and the voices saw more porcelain bodies moving inside. The space turned its head. The upper levels of the walkway similarly led straight into the side of the building, but at the bottom level a wide, flat plaza in front of the structure swarmed with the robed creatures.

The inside of the building was more complex than anything the voices had seen before. It looked much smaller than the outside, with a ceiling only a few body lengths above the space. But then, as the eyes adjusted, the voices saw that the room was actually much _larger_ than the building’s walls suggested. It must have been carved deep into the stone of the cliff. In the distance, they could just make out entrances to tunnels, lit by fires that did not flicker or smoke. The various porcelain creatures cast long, wavering shadows across the plain flooring and the irregular walls as they milled about.

 _Over there_ \- _what’s that_ \- one of the monsters waited by a small, transparent chamber, as a platform lowered to the ground from a hole in the ceiling. Of course- multiple layers- what a great idea- how do they stop it from caving in-

The floor in here provided unexpected relief. The fork-legs had some traction, the wrist protrusions felt just a little give to the floor. Finally, the space could walk confidently. The taller one glanced anxiously at the space, as they led it across the floor to the lifting chamber.

When the chamber arrived, the two figures pushed the space inside, the taller one holding up its stone the whole way. The voices eyed its white-knuckled grip against the piece of metal, and then the passing floors as the lift continued its journey. They came to the agreement that they must be climbing to the top of the structure. But then the chamber stopped, and opened. The figures herded the space through the opening, and behind them the lift continued upward out of view.

“Head Merletaph!” The taller one called, spreading its arms to reveal more bald, corpse-like skin. “We have a surviving Lazarus.”

The creature in the room, Head Merletaph, sat with one leg folded over the other in an odd-looking chair. Its shroud was much less cumbersome, a poncho down to the hips, with golden embroidery and a secure hood fully hiding its face from view. The voices whispered incoherently, unable to agree on the title- the Warlord- the Den Parent- the Captain-

The leader hardly glanced up from its thin, wide sheet before settling back down, resting an elbow on the table next to it. “Oh. Good work.” It shuffled the sheet with thin, skeletal fingers. “Run along, now. Get to the next one.”

“But sir-” the shorter one began, holding out its slate.

The leader stopped it with a sharp, yellow-eyed glare. The two figures shuffled, the shorter one placed the slate on the table, and they left. The space turned to follow.

“You. You stay.” The leader merely lifted a finger and the space felt itself turned back toward the room, frozen in place. They sat like that for what felt like hours, the voices quivering, the leader turning the folds of its sheet occasionally.

_The freedom of the sea. Kai swung expertly through the ropes and wood of the rigging, tugging here and there at the sails, perking their ears up to test the wind. They would rarely pause, perched against the mast, only happy with their feet in the air. Their nails dug into the wood as they shielded their eyes from the sun, gazing at the clouds on the horizon. The wind would change direction, soon._

“Well?” The leader interrupted, before the name could find its voice. The leader leveled its flat gaze at the space.

The voices could only flick their eyes to the side, noting the far wall of the chasm through the window, and back to the leader.

“ _Are you going to talk_ ,” the leader spat, leaning forward in its chair. The voices churned. This body could speak?

The leader set the sheet aside on the table and stood, smoothing out its poncho. “Very well. We’ll do this the hard way.”

In an instant, the leader jumped forward, and thrust its palm into the base of the space’s neck. The voices scattered, the legs shuddered, and the space fell to the floor. Disconnected half-whispers drifted haphazardly into each other, unable to coordinate.

The leader kicked the space’s neck, and the jagged voices cried out.

“I am going to do this,” it said, punctuating each word with a kick, “until you tell me to stop.”

The voices tried to wheeze and struggle, but the space did not need to breathe, and each of the voices thrashed out at different limbs, moving none of them. They scrambled into each other, then scattered again at the next kick.

_The old man sat on his throne, his paws clenched against the scepter of gator bone, ruminating. His beady eyes looked over his army down the hill as they labored to build a hasty wall in the face of the oncoming storm. Across the field, he could see the tiny specks of his opponent digging their own burrows. Their insistence on staying underground would be their demise. Bryagh showed all his teeth in a maniacal grin. Yes, while the waters poured… His soldiers could bury their air holes._

“ _Stop._ ” The mechanical voice grated, startling twenty-nine voices. Then the mechanical voice groaned with the rest of them, escalating into an anguished howl. This voice was _wrong_ , _unnatural_ \- like the hammer against the anvil, missing the weapon- like the call of the eagle about to strike-

The leader turned and strode back to the table, picking up the slate to examine it. It snorted and tossed it back down. “They’re all troublemakers. Fine.”

It waved its hand dismissively. “Pick yourself up and go. From the top of this building, climb straight up the wall. The trolley operators there will give you your assignment.”

The voices struggled upright. It felt as though the joints in the fork-legs creaked with the effort. All the voices could focus on was that wrenching sound squealing from the head as they instinctively panted. The knife-fingers flexed, but with only a glance back at the space, the leader sent a shudder through the body. The voices found themselves picking their way out of the room and into the chamber with the lift. They found an opening to the cliff side, a window, and dug their wrist protrusion into the stone. The sharp point of the limb dug in firmly, and the fork-legs had little trouble jabbing into the smallest footholds. The space was halfway up the cliff side before the voices could catch up to reality. There they paused.

Back down in the ravine, a bright light shone from one of the buildings. The voices recognized this one- the chamber they had first emerged from. The light flickered like a flame in a storm- like the candle at the end of the wick- like fanning wood embers- through the windows. A rising shriek echoed out of the chamber, followed by shattering glass. Then, silence. Below, on the walkways, some of the porcelain creatures paused. Some bowed their heads. Others simply continued their business.

The space had no direction to go but upward. But it only took one step up the wall before it stopped. A violent shudder ran down its joints and up its neck.

_“I won’t!” The old man thrashed on his deathbed. “I can’t! Not after everything else! A little cold can’t kill me!”_

_His attendants sat outside the room. He could hear them, between labored breaths. Perhaps they were waiting to clamor for his position the moment he died. But Bryagh knew from watching so many others- they would never last as long as he._

_None had survived the Plague before. But he could survive. He had always survived. He would survive! He would survive…_

A violent-

_Neima dropped her trumpet, a dizzying weakness wracking her body. The instrument hit the floor with a clang, and a jangle as a piece broke off. She didn’t see which one, doubled over on the bed, bloody drool dripping down her chin. This was the end, it had to be… She pawed desperately at the quill on the end table. Had to get that last song down… She’d ink it in her own blood if she had to…_

There was a-

_There was a sudden weakness in Kai’s wrists and fingers, and their grip slipped- they fell through the air- hit the water’s surface-_

The space froze, rigid-

_Divya stumbled, listing hard to the side. She rested a paw on the shallow wall, the only thing that stopped her from tumbling right off the roof._

_“Div!” Her brother called. His voice seemed so distant now, even though he was right next to her, holding her under the arms. He brushed damp fur out of her eyes. “I-I’ll get the Den Mother, she’ll know…”_

_She closed her eyes. “It’s okay, Udom. It’s okay. Just sit with me…”_

The space-

_Deven tightened his icy grip on his spear, hands trembling in his weakness. Outnumbered and out-supplied, his fellow guards shivered as they watched the invaders bear down on the little stronghold. It was time to move. He hopped up into position, spear at the ready- but the enemy had already climbed the wall- his sluggish feet couldn’t get traction enough to jump away-_

Stop-

_The eagles shrieked, somewhere not too far behind. They would take the slowest runner. The little party’s leader was slow and frail, but she held the key to their quest’s victory. Ishani knew her own days were numbered as she wheezed and struggled just behind the group. Well… They needed their leader. Ishani stumbled to a stop as her friends continued bounding through the canyon, and closed her eyes._

Enough-

_Uk’s only comfort was their companion, stroking their fur gently as they struggled to breathe. But the air seemed to grow thinner, and farther away, no matter how desperate the pleas…_

Lazarus screamed a mechanical grinding squeal as its wrists lost their grip on the stone and its full weight pushed into its thin hind legs for support. It backpedaled down the wall a few steps before driving the blades back into the stone and stopping itself with a harsh crackle of old rocks coming loose. This was… This was…

The voices moaned and howled together. They had died! They had been _murdered_ \- had had their lives _stolen_ by these- by these-

 _Kill them!_ One voice roared above the others.

 _Yes, yes!_ Twenty-nine others replied as one. _Go back!_

Rocks scattered across the roof of the building as Lazarus tore back down through the window. But the leader was already gone. It swung its head back and forth- _there- the lift- the leader can’t have gotten far-_

It wrenched open the lift doors with an echoing clang. These creatures’ insistence on giving it knives for arms and legs would be their undoing. Inside the lift, Lazarus scrabbled at the hard, smooth walls- no give. But these legs were long if not sturdy. The voices pushed as one, and two legs struck the wall, piercing the stone just enough for purchase. They descended. The voices clamored as they approached the next floor down. They would search every layer of this structure- the leader could not hide for long.

Another creature under a bright, heavy cloth called out and ran toward Lazarus, holding up one of those metal shards. Lazarus’ eyes flicked toward the device, and it snapped its wrist out- like a blade- like a spear- and skewered the creature’s pale, fleshy arm. It wailed, and Lazarus used its free arm to shove the creature aside. More jogged in from the open hall doors. But this body was large, and heavy, and broad. The voices charged forward together, bowling over the smaller creatures in their path. The legs skittered against the hard, unyielding hallway floor.

This body was too bulky to sense vibrations in the ground. No matter. Let the creatures give chase. They would rue the day they challenged Bryagh- Deven- Ezra- Neima- Exene- Amaru-

An open window. A ramp. Lazarus climbed through, folding its legs farther than any animal should be able to, and crawled along the wall of the building. The outside of the structure was built from the same stone as the ravine wall; its fork-legs clung easily to the surface. It found a lower window and slid into a cramped hallway, with walls the color and consistency of the blades Timur spent so much time crafting. A hard _clang_ rung out into the darkness with every step Lazarus took. It could tell from the whirring and humming, like a giant beast slumbering within the ravine wall, that this floor was important. Even if it could not find the leader, Lazarus would find what they were hiding here and break it.

The voices began their charge across the floor, but a leg became suddenly unresponsive. Lazarus turned back. The floor, there were tiny holes, the toes of the knife-legs had gotten caught. It planted its wrist blades between the holes and yanked its foot free, only to trap the next leg. The voices chittered in frustration, their rage escaping as a grinding growl. This floor was thinner and flimsier, and Lazarus could already hear footsteps a few yards away. It had to hurry. It danced across the floor, stumbling every few steps as its legs stuck, until it reached more solid ground.

 _There it is_ , the leader’s bright poncho decorated in silver, standing across a platform of the holed flooring. It seemed a little different than before, but none of the voices cared enough to waste time examining it. Lazarus bent its legs and launched itself as far across the room as it could.

But the body was heavy, and the legs thin. Lazarus only hopped a short distance, landed on the flooring, and staggered. The leader turned around, its silver eyes wide, and stumbled back against the wall. Lazarus tripped and crashed to the floor.

The leader effortlessly raised its hand, and the voices found themselves scrambling, unable to coordinate or move the body.

“Finished with your temper tantrum?” The leader asked, high and cold. A different voice than before. Two leaders?

“ _I think that one’s another Warlord Bryagh_ ,” a distant voice echoed across the room. The voices spun, trying to turn the head, to find the source. Was there someone else here? This voice sounded jarringly familiar.

The leader snorted. “Probably at least one other soldier in there, too. Put a hole in the poor kid upstairs. But they just finished you, didn’t they? You’re a coordinated little concoction.”

The voices struggled, but the arms and legs, the neck, the eyes, remained unresponsive.

“ _Looks like it caused some damage to a windowsill upstairs, but not much else. You’re not… are you?”_

“We have to, Sentry. Merletaph would _kill_ me if I didn’t. Especially with a Bryagh shard, you know how much of a headache that guy’s been over in Mulu. Ping the boys over at Reconditioning and get…” The leader paused, contemplating its fingers. “Sisyphus, to carry this one out. Don’t want those legs and blades causing any trouble.”

“… _Right away, Head Merlock_.”

The voices buzzed, trapped in an unmoving pile of rocks. _What was that voice?_ Lazarus needed to see- needed to meet- to figure out-

Something lifted its body from behind and half-dragged it out of the room and down endless corridors, leaving the voices reeling. The shrouded creatures stepped aside, watching the body and its prison keeper pass.


	2. Chapter 2

The voices buzzed, unable to form coherent thoughts. They had been unable to move the body for days now. The head rested in a harness, forced to stare into the empty cell across from Lazarus’. The blank far wall nearly blended perfectly in with the short plain fence making up its prison. The single boundary between its cell and the one across was the smooth, dull white narrow hall between the two. The dim lights overhead cast creamy, vague shadows across Lazarus’ vision.

No matter where they pushed or poked, even as a united force, the voices could only twitch a finger or a leg joint. The body did not tire, but they were growing irate anyhow. They could only form one thought, when they happened to overlap- one obsession.

_I want to go home._

Lazarus could not judge its appearance, it hadn’t seen its body since that first day, but it knew the creatures had partially dismantled it. Its chest casing sat off to the side, propped against the shallow boundary of its cell. The structure of its holding area reminded Lazarus of the stalls- the livestock- the mounts- the barns-

A tangle of thin, colorful strips trailed out of its chest across the floor. One set of strips connected to a slit in the wall; one set looped back around, up the straps of the harness; one rested against an intricate box at the corner of Lazarus’ vision. The voices had attempted to examine it several times, but the body’s vision became granular at the edges and they couldn’t agree on any specific features. Another set of strips reached all the way out into the hallway and around a corner, behind the fence. Occasionally, Lazarus felt a twinge from the strips, and it became increasingly aware of how exposed its innards were in this state.

It stared bitterly at the opposite wall: Featureless stone, except for a thin imperfection near the ceiling. The voices longed for teeth, for feet, for ears, any way to express their hatred for that sheet of blank, pale stone. It taunted them, with its refusal to resolve even one more detail they could examine.

Something moved, drawing the attention of all thirty voices.

One of the porcelain creatures perched on the fence to Lazarus’ cell, its head tilted as it regarded Lazarus with its wide, expressionless eyes. Lazarus could not see the entire creature, but something seemed off about the arms.

They sat in unmoving silence for several minutes.

Eventually, it spoke in a hollow, mechanical voice. “What title have the Artificers given you?”

“… Lazarus,” the body ground out.

“Mine is Eurydice,” the other replied. Its stubby toes adjusted their grip on the smooth fence. “And what are your real names?”

Eurydice sat patiently as Lazarus gathered its thoughts. Thirty voices resonated with their names, one by one. Then, in return, Lazarus waited while Eurydice listed thirty-two names.

“Warlord Bryagh _was_ on that list,” Eurydice mused, shuffling thoughtfully. “Sentry’s got a good eye.”

“What does that mean?”

The other shuttered its eyes up and down. “Not all of us learned to walk, talk, and fight on the same day we arrived, you know. Very impressive.”

Lazarus didn’t respond. Eurydice shifted its weight, giving Lazarus a glimpse of a bulky shoulder, and a long thick arm trailing down behind the fence. Perhaps it was supporting its weight from the ground. Very familiar- had it seen this creature before? The thought was gone before any more of the voices could grasp it when Eurydice spoke again.

“You share a name with it,” Eurydice said. “With Sentry.”

“… A name?”

Eurydice paused again, scratching its toe against the stone fence. “You are very new.”

Lazarus said nothing.

“Your Power Core hosts thirty souls. But they are not complete souls. There is…” Eurydice hesitated. “A mechanism these Artificers use. They tear apart your being instead of your physical body and store random pieces in a jar. This jar is what drives your body.”

How the voices longed for ears, or eyelids, or whiskers. They could not even change the direction they stared, to acknowledge the creature’s words.

“You may have noticed that you have full memories of each of your lives, but no thoughts to describe them.” The porcelain creature lifted one of its blocky, clumsy arms and held on to something near the ceiling, out of Lazarus’ sight, as it considered its words. Half-whispers scattered across the body’s space with thirty differing mixes of confusion, outrage, and dread.

Eurydice continued, “Each of you is only a small piece of the complete person. You have been locked together inside of your…” It reached out with one of those pillar-like arms to hover a finger outside of Lazarus’ chest. “Power Core. It is not normally exposed in this way. You are being reprogrammed.”

The voices moved to scowl and pinch their snout, but the body did not respond. “Why are you here?”

“To give information. But…” The creature made an odd crackling noise. “You know, within me there is a soul who lost her lover to this Plague the Artificers set upon our kind. He died… perhaps a year before she did. Mumtaz only ever wanted to be with him, and he with her.”

“Strange,” Lazarus interrupted. “Only one partner.”

Eurydice’s eyes flickered up and down again. “We are all strange in our own ways, perhaps,” it replied patiently. “But knowing that you and Sentry are each Ishani, and she part of each of you… Well. Anything could happen, if we have Ishani among us, and two of her at that. Perhaps a shard of Mumtaz reunited with some shard of Jahan, somewhere.”

 _Ishani_. “Tell me,” Lazarus said, unable to look up at Eurydice in its desperation. “The Horned Warlord, the Fury himself…”

The other straightened. It tapped several of its toes against the fence and lowered its arm. “Killed, a lifetime ago. He did not succumb to the Plague, that we know of. No trace of him in any city.”

Lazarus could not express its relief. “Then they succeeded. But… a lifetime? I… All these souls… We all died around the same time?”

“No. The Plague has taken our lives since before even my oldest soul’s grandparents were born. Some of your souls died sixty years ago, or more.”

“How do you know all this?”

“We’ve-”

A shuffling interrupted Eurydice. The voices clawed at the body’s eyes, forcing them to twitch farther to the side. A poncho with silver adornment swept away before Lazarus could examine their eavesdropper. Eurydice made no effort to pursue; its limbs were too mismatched for easy navigation on the ground.

_Kill it! Kill it! It knows our secrets- our information- our intelligence-_

How they longed for whiskers, for ears.

“We won’t get in trouble, if you’re wondering,” Eurydice said, after watching the figure go. “We have no privacy. Any place Sentry cannot see… the Artificers watch very carefully.”

“They simply let us talk?”

Eurydice turned its head toward the ground and scratched at the fence again. “Mostly because it won’t matter. We’re not conspiring against them. We just wanted to get some information before it was too late.” Its arms shuddered, lifting its small feet from the stone fence. It stepped into Lazarus’ changed line of sight. “I must return to work before I _do_ get in trouble. Goodbye, Lazarus. Thank you for telling me your names.”

With that, the porcelain creature loped off on its pillar-like arms, leaving Lazarus in its harness. The strips dug into its chest twinged.

What felt like _days_ passed. The lack of movement, of scent, sound, or motion to track suffocated the voices. The only markers of time were the twinging strips and the intermittent flickering of the lights. The walls muffled even the usual shattering that preceded the change in light. Occasionally, the voices overlapped in muddled discussions about the layout of this labyrinth, the walls of the ravine, what waited at the top. There had to be a way to get home.

_And what will happen, when I am home? How do I get out of this body?_

_I want to go home._

The world grew distant and nonsensical as Lazarus withdrew into itself. The cell wall- it hardly knew what it was looking at anymore. The room and hallway, and the far wall, became indistinguishable under the dim light. There was some kind of box, to the side? Maybe the answer wasn’t to kill these creatures. There were too many of them, and too little help from its fellow porcelain monsters. Maybe once the creatures freed Lazarus from this prison, it could climb out of the ravine and consider its next move from there. Those leaders, those Heads, couldn’t command this body if they couldn’t find it, surely…

The lights flickered, and a blurred wail seeped through the walls. The voices stirred at the sudden noise, their attention bringing the room into enough focus to realize that the lights had gone dark. They stayed dark, for several moments, until with a loud buzzing the holding area returned to visibility. Like the bees- like the… like the…

Loud, clipped footsteps outside of Lazarus’ line of sight- one or two of the shrouded creatures…

“What are you doing out here?” A hard voice called. “What’s the matter?”

The footsteps stopped. “This is too many failures in a row,” the nearer creature replied, voice high and cold. It took a deep breath. “I figured out what causes these major outages.”

“Out with it, then.”

“ _Children_ , Merletaph. Babies. They can’t even begin to bond with the other souls. They can’t comprehend what is happening. One shard corrupts the entire Core.”

“Well, figure out how to stop reeling them in. There has to be a way to differentiate.”

A huff. “Yes, I’ll just tell the warp pipe which specific souls I want, since I personally know everyone on Prolagus.”

“Fine. Any idea how to reconnect the pipe to Codicil?”

“They keep cutting it off. It wouldn’t make a difference, anyhow. Their species still has its own young.”

“But _less_ of them. I’ll send a request to Karchner to figure out how to securely reconnect to them, even if it takes an artificial pipe.”

The other didn’t respond.

“You look pale as a ghost. Spit it out.”

“Do you ever… get the feeling, maybe this was a bad idea?”

A loud scuffling ensued, and a bang against the far wall. “You know how much we’ve invested in this project. You know how much good it does.” The first creature’s volume dropped to a desperate hiss. “The Magi will _thrive_ because of our work. You know how desperately they need the labor. If we can provide this proof of concept…”

The second creature grunted. “Yes, yes. ‘By their sacrifice, we progress forward’... but…”

“Then we just stick to the Leporids. These rodents aren’t even civilized. At least we can make use of them.”

“They’re building actual settlements, now-”

“They’re _rabbits_ , Merlock. You hunt for sport on the surface every season. You don’t even eat what you kill. _How is this worse?_ ”

A strained sigh. “I just didn’t think it would be like this.”

“… Don’t let the apprentices see you like this. Do _not_ let the robots see you like this. We can’t lose so many Power Cores. Get your head back on your shoulders and _solve it_.”

“Of course I’ll solve it,” the other voice huffed. “And if _I_ can’t solve it, the Prognosticus had one more diagram I haven’t deciphered yet.”

“Whatever it takes. I’d better see improvement in the next quarter.” One creature stalked off with harsh, heavy footsteps.

The other creature stood for a long time. Lazarus almost thought it had quietly walked away, but then the clipped footsteps began again, growing closer. The silver-clothed second leader stepped into view. It stopped and scrutinized Lazarus, eyes narrowed. Lazarus did not bother trying to move.

“I _told_ them to…” It sighed and stepped into the cell, crouching near the box. It fiddled with the contraption, just out of Lazarus’ line of sight.

With a great effort, the voices heaved the body’s eyes a degree to the right, putting the creature in easier focus. The strips came alive with light and shocked something deep within Lazarus. It cried out and jerked in its harness, only once.

The leader’s shimmering eyes widened. “Oh, you’re still awake! No wonder they hadn’t turned it up yet.” It paused, putting a finger to its face, under the darkness of the shroud. “Well, you’re almost done. You must be bored. This will speed up the process.” With a flourish, it spun and walked out of the cell.

“Yes, sir,” Lazarus found itself grumbling under its breath, unbidden.

The hours were long, and the shocks stronger. For the first time, the voices grew nauseous. But there was no way to act on it, so they simply boiled.

Long after Lazarus stopped even trying to keep track of time, it noticed a very small porcelain creature in the entrance to its cell. It watched Lazarus with its dead eyes, waiting.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Lazarus half-grunted.

“I am Capa,” it began. “On occasion, I do have places to be.”

The voices reeled at another of the box’s jolts, and Lazarus panted instinctively. It could not calm itself; it had no breathing to slow, no sweat, no paw to wipe the brow.

Capa’s eyes seemed to glitter, through the confused haze the voices were sinking into. It finally moved, to tilt its head a degree as it regarded Lazarus. “This won’t be the end. I… we wanted to reassure you.”

“I want to go home,” Lazarus gasped between labored, static breaths.

“All of us do. I can’t tell you that will happen. But I can tell you that what happens next is not unbearable. Someday you will be yourself again. The Artificers are not so good with the control magic, yet.”

Responding seemed too difficult, too out of reach.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’ve been an inspiration to me, Warlord Bryagh. To all of us. You will not give up. No one inside your Core will give up.”

 _What does that mean?_ Even the most assertive voice in the space felt sleepy and confused. When Lazarus focused on the world in front of it again, Capa had gone.

Maybe that didn’t matter. The world blurred together as the voices grew more queasy and distant, until there was little left.

_Satriya considered the uneven chain mail in front of him, hung on the rack, dripping wet. He rolled a topaz between the fingers of his gloved paw. Now, where exactly did the Den Mother expect him to find a place for a gem of this size? Perhaps it could fit on the chest, with the proper setting._

_“Apprentice,” he barked, his ears high and severe. He should at least look the part of the strict mentor. The kid poked his nose around the corner, whiskers quivering._

_“Get that empty necklace with the triangle settings. I’m going to show you how to modify damaged armor while you repair it.”_

“Here is your map,” something said in the distance. A colored sheet appeared in front of the space. “We’ve loaded it into your processor. You can access it the same way you would move your leg. Just reach for it.”

“Yes, sir.”

A shift in weight. Some kind of belt went over its back.

The creature pointed ahead. Rolling hills stretched past the hand. “Arborville is that way- houses built into the trees. If you get lost, use your life-form radar. It’s not hard.”

“Yes, sir.”

_Exene touched a paw to the enormous footprint and rubbed the damp clay between her fingers, letting the earthy scent fill her nose. Her eyes narrowed. An unfamiliar predator lurked nearby, and she was very, very far from home. Then… Just the most hushed breath. Just the slightest change in the air. Her grip tightened on her bow and she bounded away as the monster dropped from the dense, dead trees above, leaving a crater in the clay where she had stood._

_The rocky outcropping nearby gave her enough cover to scramble into a crack where the monster couldn’t reach. She took a rattled breath, grasping at the quiver on her back. Looking out through the tiny sliver of daylight, she could see the monster’s sharp triangle ears twisting this way and that. It raised its nose to the air. She shrank back out of sight before it could turn her way._

_But the monster had heard her. With two huge leaps, it landed on the boulders, further settling the pile. Exene cried out as her arm and bow caught between two of the shifting rocks. The monster hissed, rocking back and forth on the pile to crush her. She curled up, gasping at the pain in her twisting arm, and put her feet against the boulder above. Even with all the might in her legs and feet, she could hardly keep the boulder from rolling off its support, and she grunted with the effort._

_Then she heard the quick whistle of an arrow leaving its bow, and another soon after. The monster screamed and fell back, its shadow crossing the narrow opening above. The others made short work of it while Exene panted and held the rock off herself. They had better not leave her-_

_Finally, the weight lifted, and her brethren freed her mangled arm._

_“I think we can make a home here,” she hissed through gritted teeth. One of her sisters laughed and handed her the aloa leaf, which she snatched away to wrap her arm in._

“You’ve got a pebble stuck in your joint, hold on,” a voice murmured. The space stopped moving. At the creature’s touch, its elbow strained under some pressure, and then loosened with a vague relief and freedom.

There were trees.

_Tiny fingers struggled to reach the rough valves of the trumpet. Its bleating filled the empty nest in the moonlight._

Then, there were no trees. There was a ravine.

_“We move out at dawn,” the Warlord snarled, cowing his advisors. “You can go one night without sleep.”_

Then there were the walls of a ravine stretching overhead, and hard ground.

_Fu bumbled with his quill, struggling to keep the stack of skins in a straight pile in his arm. How the Mayor expected him to write and walk at the same time, he had no idea. He shuffled forward, poking his feet out one at a time while he kept his eyes on the skin on top, his quill dripping._

_As the Mayor spoke, Fu’s attention drifted to the view from the top of their little fort. An entire town coming together like this… The Mayor was truly an inspiration. As strange as the social structure was… Maybe, just maybe, this could work._

_“Did you get all that?”_

_Fu nearly dropped his stack as the Mayor turned toward him._

“Did you hear about Head Merlock?”

“Ha. What did she do this time?”

“She’s shut herself in her study again and won’t let anyone in the fusion chamber. No one in her department’s going to finish their studies at this rate.”

“Ha! I’m glad I’m not _her_ apprentice…”

_Well, this was a fine predicament. Their quest wouldn’t be a very long one if they couldn’t even cross the mighty Yangtze river winding across the wide, wet fields a few miles outside of town. Ishani thumped the ground a few times and hopped back toward the shrubs obscuring their resting spot. The other five members of the party had clustered close in the thin shade._

_“It’s dry season,” their leader offered. “If we head upstream for a few days, we should find a place to cross. Even the plains here aren’t flooded.”_

_“A dry season in a dry year,” the oldest member of the group tutted. “Predators will be hungry.”_

_“They would have moved downstream by now.” Ishani poked her ears above the shrub. The breeze cooled the tips, and she heard no whispers in the wind._

_“But we would lose several days of travel,” their guard piped up._

_Ishani frowned. “No. That will take us up into the mountains… The Yangtze curves west through the range. It’s a little out of the way, but not more than a day or two.”_

_The eldest only twitched her whiskers._

_Ishani snapped her fingers. “Oh, wait, this could work to our advantage! The paths there will save us a trek through the Eagle Pillars. That’s slow and careful work anyhow.”_

_The leader raised her eyebrows. The breeze played with her mane._

_Ishani swept her foot through the grass, digging out a little trail in the light dust. “See, if this line is the river, and we move this way…” She dragged her finger through the dust across it. “We skip out on that entire eagle nest. That cuts the danger of our journey in half.”_

_The eldest blinked. “But only half.”_

_She shrugged. “We’ll take care of the second nest when we get there. Maybe we can find another shortcut.”_

A porcelain monster walked alongside the space. The space tingled at a familiar shriek that echoed across the ravine and cut off with shattering glass. The monster next to it flinched, falling a step behind, before it hustled to catch up.

“Oh. You’re not awake, are you?”

No response.

“… What assignment have you got?”

The information came easily. “Apprentice Merisis has instructed this unit to deliver the filled globes to the Scrying center in Optym.”

They walked in silence for a moment.

The porcelain creature leaned to the side, head tilted. “Which route are you taking, Lazarus?”

“The provided map gives directions across the overworld.”

A harsh, static noise. “I know a faster way. More efficient.”

“More efficient.”

“Yeah, follow me.”

_Ajith smirked, clapping his paws together. “Listen. Someday I’m going to play Tempest. Just watch.”_

_His brother let his head fall back over the side of their nest of skins and cushions. “You’ll never make it. You’ve got no grit, brother.”_

_“Grit!?”_

The memory cut off as the porcelain creature gently rapped on the armored side with several _clinks_. “Don’t drift too far off. We’re here.”

In front of the two of them stood a row of tall, colorful doors set into a vast wall. From one end of the platform to the other, there were seven, each metal slate splashed with a different color.

The other creature hopped between its four feet. It stepped forward to pat the wall energetically. “Karchner’s perfecting something called _Dimensional Doors_. Travel between cities is instant, when they’re running properly.”

The space waited for the path to open so it could continue forward.

“The Sentry over there gave me their power schedule, when I worked there a few weeks ago.”

The porcelain creature continued talking, but…

_Deven leaned on his spear, watching the other soldiers play their card game._

_One of his companions turned their head up to him. “Pouting because you lost?”_

_Deven sighed. “No, I’m keeping a lookout. My constant vigilance is the only thing keeping you sorry morons alive.”_

_Another barked out a laugh and tossed down her cards. “That’s a pouting face, if I ever saw one!”_

_“One of us has to watch!” Deven’s voice cracked as he threw his free hand in the air._

_“Sure, but only because you lost.”_

_Next round, he would kick their tails to the horizon._

The surface. Tall grass, trees on the horizon. Then, the ravine. Then, the surface.

_Bugs speckled the inside of the ancient amber. Jing turned it this way and that in her paw, letting the torch light glitter off its surface. This would make a perfect talisman for the Gauntlets of Healing._

Two voices from above, sitting in the trees, while the space waited for its load:

“Meret told me something interesting. You want some city gossip?”

“Hit me.”

“Underside’s slowed its robot production rate way down. Head Merletaph is furious. Meret caught her chewing out Head Merlock big-time on the roof of his apartment, he said he just had the window open and they didn’t even try to keep it down.”

_“The most important thing, when you’re brewing tea…” Masala began to her crowd of wide-eyed youngsters. She couldn’t help but grin at how their ears perked. “Is to set the right environment.”_

The stars twinkled above. The space’s head lights cast long dim beams across the grassy hill. It turned its head upward to follow the slope, and noticed the moonlight glinting off its fingers.

The moonlight…

Something was wrong. What was it?

 _There should be three moons_ , the voices whispered together.

_Neima hunched over her stone in the dead of night, pausing every few moments to turn her head up and examine the moons. Their light played off each other: sturdy bronze, icy blue-white, and airy reflective gray between the two. She jabbed her quill against the rock, crumpling the tip. With a snarl she tossed it away, grabbing yet another out of her cup. She dunked the end of it in her ink and very nearly chewed on the tip while she contemplated the three heavenly bodies. Ink dripped off her nose, leaving her whiskers quivering in the multicolored light._

_How could you translate such a sight into music? The moons hung serenely in the sky, blotting out even the stars in such a wide circle. The way the colors lit up the long strands of dead grass, bounced off her slate, twinkled at the end of the quill… Neima’s brow furrowed and her ears drew back. She shuffled her stiff feet, trying to force some feeling back into them. They would be out of phase again soon. The next collection like this wouldn’t come around for another two years. She had to make her decision. Bronze, and white, and blue, and gray… The cold and the stillness and the crisp smell of the dew collecting on the rough stones. What notes brought them to mind? What might another instrument accomplish that her trumpet could not?_

_The song was meant to be her magnum opus, but upon facing the reality of the sight, how could she ever do it justice?_

Lazarus paused. _I guess I never will_ , the voices mused together. It stood, on the hill, for a long moment. The packages on its back pushed its knife-legs into the soft ground, so much softer than it was at home.

It could never get home, could it? From the very beginning… the Artificers had total control over Lazarus’ fate, and had ensured it was trapped forever. The voices never had a chance. Even if Lazarus did get home, the voices had been gathered from across time, from across the countries and tribes and regions. Where could Ishani fit, in this new world? Where would Timur? Bryagh? Kai? They had never heard of some of the ideas the other voices shared- the Mayors- the quills- the games- the armored mounts-

Was there even any way home? How did they get pulled into this world? What could Lazarus do on this world, if it did disappear into the wilderness between settlements? Were there other robots out there somewhere?

Lazarus turned its head away from the strange, foreign moonlight and stared at its wrist protrusions, dug into the ground. Before it acted, this time, it needed answers.


	3. Chapter 3

Lazarus crept down the humming halls of the inner Robot Processing Center, its knife-legs clanging against the metal flooring, despite its best efforts. It wouldn’t have much time to wander, if it wanted to maintain the illusion of obedience the way so many of its brethren did.

When its sensors no longer found any of the Artificers within earshot, it dared to slow and look around. There was no guarantee that anyone would hear it…

“Sentry,” it called anyway. Its tinny voice echoed down the hall, lost in the deep humming of the pipes clustered along the walls and ceiling.

“ _This way_ ,” came the reply, from around the corner. Lazarus clomped after it, only to find the hallway empty.

“ _Keep going_ ,” the voice echoed, uncannily familiar. Lazarus followed it down buzzing halls lit overhead with simple lamps. It had left the stone of the city above, and now only undecorated metal made up the walls and ceiling, lined with pipes and wires, and the occasional screen. Lazarus glanced into the doorways and openings as it passed, but found no porcelain creature waiting for it. Then it arrived at a dead end. Now, no life-forms appeared on its radar at all.

Over the din of the thrumming pipes, Lazarus could barely make out a voice. “ _I wondered when you’d come around. Welcome back._ ”

Lazarus turned its head, looking for the source of the voice. But it could see no one. “You…” It paused, tapping a blade against the ground as it considered its next words. “I don’t understand. Your voice is so different from mine, and yet…”

“ _And yet we sound the same to each other. It’s an odd sort of kinship, isn’t it? Hearing you talk is so strange. It’s strange, for something so small to be so distracting,_ ” Sentry’s voice came from a different direction, this time.

“Has this happened before?”

The other voice took a moment to respond. “ _The Sentry in Optym shares a soul with one of the city’s other robots. I didn’t expect the bond to be this powerful._ ”

“What causes this… this feeling?” Lazarus glanced around, trying to catch the other robot before it spoke. Was Sentry’s body just very small? Was it hiding among the pipes and valves somewhere, hopping between its positions?

“ _I have no idea. I find myself wondering if I will still find you so familiar, once my shard of Ishani breaks off._ ”

Lazarus paused. “Breaks off?”

A soft static crackled out from among the pipes. “ _We were not made immortal, Lazarus. When you stitch together beings that do not belong together, they eventually fall apart. Our bodies take up too much energy, it strains these souls._ ”

“Even when all of us are from the same species? How long will I last…?” Lazarus turned back toward the empty hallway. 

Sentry’s voice came more quietly. “ _Is it the species? That would explain a lot…_ ”

“Explain what?”

“ _Prolagus was not the Artificers’ only target, at first. I’ve got a bugbear or two kicking around in here, and a Dilla, and then my multitude of Leporids. They needed a lot of souls, to power a machine as large as I._ ”

“… How many?” _Large?_

“ _I started with two hundred and sixty-three souls. I’m down, four or five, after only seventy years._ ” Sentry’s voice grew clipped, its pronunciation harder. “ _Lazarus, do you know how many attempts they made, to find two hundred and sixty-three compatible souls?_ ”

To avoid thinking about that, Lazarus occupied itself with examining the pipes more closely. From the hissing, and the slight wavering to the air around the metal, Lazarus could guess that this room was very hot, for living creatures. But its armor did not include temperature sensors.

“ _The Artificers keep rotating out their apprentices. They never have time to realize how many souls it takes to power a machine the size of the city_ ,” Sentry crackled bitterly.

The body did not tire, but somehow, the voices felt they needed to sit down. Lazarus staggered into a more grounded position, its legs folded under the bulk of its body. “So, then… What happens to the pieces of me that will break off?”

“ _Hopefully, they go to the afterlife as normal._ ”

“As little bits and pieces?”

“ _Hopefully, they can rejoin into one whole again._ ”

“Some of my souls, and your souls, are generations old. Do the pieces still… find each other, scattered across time in that way?”

“ _Hopefully._ ”

The voices paused, letting the eyes stare absently while they rolled amongst themselves, trying to form an opinion.

“ _Do you want to escape? All thirty of you? Do you want to leave this existence behind?_ ”

The voices considered. “… No. I want to go back to how things were, but… I am scared to find out what might happen to me, if I die.”

Again, that static crackling. “ _An interesting answer. In that case, I have one request, before our time is up._ ”

Lazarus’ sensors showed a few Artificers meandering in its direction. The metal floor scraped beneath Lazarus’ knife-legs as it heaved its weight upright.

“ _The Artificers took many things from us. But they have given us something that, perhaps, we can make precious. They have given us the ability to make archives. If you want… We would appreciate if you returned, between jobs, to give as many accounts from your souls as you can recall._ ”

Lazarus turned toward the doorway, plotting a course around the approaching maintenance workers. “You wish to be dazzled by my recollections of Bryagh’s exploits?”

The static grew into a brief outburst, overpowering even the thrumming pipes. “ _Oh, hush. Mulu’s already had three Bryagh shards give accounts over the years. I’m much more interested in your crystal farmer._ ”

One of the voices felt a little put out, at that.

“ _Goodbye for now, Lazarus. Neither of us wants reprogramming again, I assume. Ping me anywhere when you have time, and I’ll lead you somewhere safe._ ”

Lazarus bowed its head briefly and made its way out of the labyrinth of halls and pipes back out to the Depot, where a cluster of Artificers waited impatiently. They scolded, and threatened with glittering controllers, but nothing could diminish the voices’ combined relief. Lazarus’ builders, its blacksmiths, its record-keeper swirled contentedly, with something to build once again in their reach.

The voices found it easier to dodge the suspicion of the Artificers than they had expected, perhaps because Lazarus’ featureless porcelain face had no means of betraying its newly-restored free will. It saw no difference in the way the Artificers spoke to it, even when Lazarus grew fidgety or restless as it waited for assignments. Perhaps they did not care what Lazarus’ mental state was, as long as it carried out its orders.

What _had_ changed, over the span Lazarus had spent half-asleep, was the number of Artificers within the city. Tall ones with adorned robes and glowing slates marched around the fusion chamber. Simple-robed ones flooded the walkways, scurried from building to building, babbled among each other. When Lazarus waded through the flowing rivers of their robes, some would stand and gawk. These Artificers were smaller than before, and hardly wore more than rags.

The voices churned in their vessel. Travel had become more cumbersome, around the city, forcing Lazarus to dodge between crowded walkways and curious eyes. It struggled to find moments to sneak off and contribute to the archives. Why hadn’t they built walkways for the robots, like Lazarus had seen in other cities during its time half-asleep? _If these creatures wished so badly for robotic servants, why did they go so out of their way to make everything difficult for me?_ The voices grumbled as one. Charting paths among the Artificers and navigating the city left the voices tired, in those rare moments of free time, and they longed more and more for opportunities to find a quiet place and decide on a story among themselves. Time became measured by these breaks- by openings- by lulls in the tide-

During one of those long days, Lazarus found itself waiting in an expansive, flowering field outside of the mine shafts. The Artificers had not completed their work on time, so Lazarus tapped its fingers against its wrist protrusion idly as it watched the small creatures fumble with their oversized package. They struggled in the doorway of a small, domed facility, built into the ground like a burrow.

Lazarus had never gone below the surface in this building, but it had learned from Sentry’s small talk that the mines were nothing like the burrows back at home: steep and cold, and sooty. The burrow structure encased in all that metal would have been risky, prone to flooding, but the rain here was far milder than home, even on its worst days. And this world’s rocks were much larger and softer than on Prolagus. The voices complained in a curdled soup of emotions and half-words while the Artificers argued at the entrance; if it could not keep these lopsided supplies balanced, Lazarus would be the one to blame.

A smaller robot stumbled up next to Lazarus and waited its turn. _New_ , the voices remarked, uneasy. Was it awake?

“When are you going back to Underside?” the robot asked. It did not attempt to emote.

Lazarus turned its head back toward the Artificers. A larger one, with colorful trim to its robes, was scolding the others. “Why do you ask?”

“You are Lazarus?”

The ones with simpler robes scampered inside, through plain steel doors, and struggled to pull the package back with them. Maybe Lazarus could afford a little wasted time. It settled back against its hind legs and drummed its fingers against its wrist blade with more deliberation. “Yes.”

“Sentry is looking for you.”

Lazarus briefly reached a hand toward its face to pinch a nose, a brow, that wasn’t there. “I just spoke with it yesterday. This team here is uncoordinated, they have not yet told me where to go.”

“Is that normal? Do they tell you ahead of time?” The other robot bobbed its head and tipped to the side before correcting its posture. It wobbled on three uneasy legs with two thick arms tucked to its side. A miner.

One voice pushed above the others- _Crystal farmers are rare among us. This group probably lacks one. I should be in there._

_The Artificers waste our skills_ , came the unanimous response.

Lazarus glanced back toward the facility. “It is less efficient to force the robot to wait idly while they prepare the package,” it recited. “They should have told me ahead of time, so I could prepare my map while I waited.”

_All hail our wise masters_ , some chirped, but Lazarus hesitated. Perhaps sarcasm would be lost on the newer model.

“Are you familiar with the archiving project?” it asked instead.

The other stumbled against its back leg when it attempted to shift its weight. “Sentry has taken stories from Keoki…”

An idea crawled along the space, like a spark hitting a fuse. “Have… you asked it to tell you others’ stories? To learn from them?”

“What?”

The smaller Artificers approached, their burden re-sorted into two bags. Lazarus stiffened. _Best keep our secrets_ , the voices whispered, memories of battle planning lingering in the space.

“Ask it sometime,” Lazarus replied, stepping into position to receive its task. It pulled up its map as the smallest of them gave it its coordinates in a halting, hesitant squeak. Then, after a few moments of considering, “this will take me four days.”

The other robot straightened, at attention, then settled back down as Lazarus turned to pick its way across the field.

Upon its return to Underside, Lazarus nearly threw its burdens to the ground in its haste to scurry to a hidden spot.

“Sentry?” it called, the moment the last blip on its radar fell out of earshot.

“ _You didn’t have to rush just for me_ ,” Sentry’s voice crackled through a speaker. Then, quieter, “ _I need you to head down into the lower R.P.C._ ”

Lazarus paused. “No one is around. I could give my story here.”

Static overwhelmed the speaker for a brief moment. “ _You don’t have to remind me. I’m not asking for a story, this shift._ ”

Dubiously, Lazarus picked its way back down the crowded walkway in silence. Artificers rushing between tasks flowed around it and robots on duty met its eyes without comment as they passed. The voices discussed their curious exchange as they watched white porcelain robots glide overhead, performing maintenance on one of the wires linking the two sides of the ravine.

A piercing wail and shattering glass interrupted the bustle. The voices forced their body not to flinch as some of their brethren and the smaller Artificers collectively winced. _Good riddance- they were the lucky ones- what a monstrous thought-_

Lazarus flinched.

The R.P.C. was less busy than usual, the clean flat walls lit by the distant lanterns with only a few shadows marching across. Lazarus trudged straight for the elevator, clenching and unclenching its knife-fingers with every step.

“ _Floor B-Six_ ,” a small voice prompted, from a speaker outside the little chamber. Lazarus complied.

“ _All the way back_ ,” Sentry said, before going silent. The voices longed for their ears. They longed for lungs, for the hard sigh and hiss of air between their nostrils. They continued walking, farther and farther into the thrumming machinery, farther into the wall of the ravine. A single dot on the radar waited, unmoving, in the depths of the R.P.C. The voices split in their curiosity, and could draw no conclusions.

In the back closet stood a thin figure in a silver poncho, shoes sharp and nails sharper, deathly pale hands clutched around its sleeved arms. It looked up as Lazarus approached, silver eyes shining beneath its shaded hood.

“You’re early,” said Head Merlock, voice high and tired.

Lazarus stopped cold as the voices revolted. They scattered to the far bounds of their space, bouncing off the edges, and Lazarus nearly lost its footing while its legs could not support its weight. It caught itself on steady knife-limbs, unable to tremble.

Head Merlock raised its head and narrowed its eyes. It seemed to stare down at Lazarus, despite the robot towering over the hood of its poncho.

“I was not aware my free time was on your schedule,” Lazarus ground out. The voices chittered and growled at their inability to throw acid into their mechanical tone. It dared not approach any closer than the entrance to the room.

Head Merlock made a short breathy noise. “How big is that Bryagh shard?”

Lacking the ability to bare its teeth, Lazarus said nothing. The Artificer mercifully did not force Lazarus to move or respond.

Instead, the head scientist returned its gaze to the ground and rubbed its arms. “I asked Sentry to bring you here. I’ve met with you all individually… So difficult to round you robots up even for a moment. You don’t have much free time, do you?”

“ _Get to the point, Head Merlock. The next one’s on its way._ ”

The leader jolted and glared at the speaker on the wall. But it relented. Lazarus straightened, the voices quieting.

“I’m going to destroy the Soul Intake Reel,” Head Merlock stated.

Lazarus balked. The voices burst into a wordless uproar.

Head Merlock drew its fingers against its arms and continued. “Soon. I need your help. I can snap up the sleeping robots and put them to work, but I need all of you waking ones to move quickly at my signal. If all of you are guarding the facility… Well, the apprentices can only hit one robot at a time. It’ll keep them out.”

What- what- this was- most unusual- doing the right thing- what an insane- _what?_

“Please.” The leader’s eyes closed.

“Who- how long- what-” Lazarus spluttered.

Head Merlock hung its head. “I am having a few of you shut off the generator. It will cause a power outage. At that time, I need you to get to the front door of the S.I.R. facility. Don’t let _anyone_ in after three minutes.” Its expression hardened. “Not even other robots. If the upper-classmen come snooping, send them down to the Dimensional Doors, to try to get Merletaph back into town. They won’t be able to, while the power is out. But they won’t know that.”

The scientist turned its head away and clenched its fists. “That’s all. Get back to work.”

The voices groaned as their body swung around on its own and made its way back down the hallway. When Lazarus could move freely again, it continued without pause to the elevator, and after that, up the ravine wall, back to work.

The next days dragged on longer than any of the thirty voices could remember. Every conversation with Lazarus’ fellow porcelain monsters was held in clipped, halting small-talk. The assertive voice in Lazarus’ little crowd approved; this ragtag band of Leporids knew better than to betray their anticipation. The voices treasured those short moments of storytelling more than ever. The routine masked Lazarus’ nerves, and the stories gave them something to ruminate on, to distract themselves.

But at last they had to convene on the plan, as Lazarus hauled its packages down the ravine wall and through one of the Dimensional Doors.

_Will Head Merlock make its move in the morning or evening? Does it matter?_ The more battle-hardened voices growled in response. _The sun barely spends two hours shining directly into the ravine each cycle. If Head Merlock expected to navigate without power, wouldn’t it need to be during that window of natural light? Or, does it have some kind of lantern- would it prefer to work in as dark conditions as possible, to slow down everyone else? Where will the students be? What of their controllers, should they prefer to give orders first and ask questions later?_

_Where will Head Merletaph be?_

The voices cut off as Lazarus stumbled, one of its legs snagging in the tough material of Optym’s pathways. The more cautious voices swam and spun across the space. The robots wouldn’t stand a chance against the Artificers.

_Head Merlock is not concerned with saving the current robots. It only wants to prevent future robots-_

Something was speaking to Lazarus. It received a firm pat on the side, on the casing over its hind legs. With a startle, it peered down at the Artificer. This one was tall, and Lazarus could just resolve wrinkles under its shallow hood, but it had drab robes. Low rank. What did it want?

“Did you hear me? I said the Scrying department is waiting for its lenses to get to the R.P.C. in Underside. Hurry up!”

Lazarus picked its way across the walkway toward the Dimensional Doors, too occupied to catch everything the creature muttered behind it. Distraction was the enemy. Better to focus on the present. Here, the sun’s light was just poking into the ravine. It would be past noontime in Underside already. The voices mulled over how quickly they could scramble to the R.P.C. to perhaps free up a moment for a story.

The Dimensional Doors stood on their own platform, the open metal panels glittering in the early light. Lazarus could see Underside through the center door, and as it passed through it felt only a slight resistance, like pressing into the surface of the water- walking into a headwind- pushing aside a skin hung as a curtain-

As it was crossing the bridge across Underside’s wide ravine, the lights across the city flickered and died. The thin light from the geothermal backup lit up across the buildings behind it, casting weak spotlights onto the carved buildings at its destination. No shattering glass heralded this outage, and the lights did not return, so the voices came to a quick agreement. They clawed along the path to the Soul Intake building, looming over the city like a great needle, all the way up the ravine wall and stretching down nearly to the world’s mantle. The bridge was not crowded, and the Artificers flowed around it in a bubble of space as usual. It was eerily… normal. As if Lazarus simply hurried to a late task, and nothing more.

Eurydice stood on its bulky arms at the front door of the facility, along the widest layer of the walkway. “Do you know what the plan is?”

Sentry’s voice crackled distantly from a speaker inside the front room. “ _Head Merlock was vague on the details. I think she didn’t want any of us to give away the plan if Merletaph demanded information._ ”

Lazarus watched down one side of the walkway, then the other, observing the shorter Artificers continue their business in the ravine’s deep shade. Some grew uneasy and stopped to look about as the darkness stretched on. Taller ones with the more adorned robes began moving against the flow of the crowd. Perhaps the other robots had caused enough trouble with the generator for a whole team of them to repair.

“It appears we are expected to wait here until the deed is done. Someone has to watch the door,” Lazarus finally said.

The two robots lingered for a moment, before Sentry’s voice returned. “ _She’s having trouble getting to the controls. The elevators are still down. I’ll tell you if you need to move._ ”

Lazarus hopped between its spindly legs to stay alert and moving, clacking their metal against the ground and sending hard shudders up into the joints. “What kind of opposition did Head Merlock expect, Sentry?”

“ _I know you want logistics, Lazarus. I don’t have anything for you besides what I can see, but it’s very dark. The upper-classmen just found the circuit breaker, they don’t yet know what… Oh._ ”

Lazarus shuddered to a stop. “Sentry? Where is the problem?”

But the speaker had gone silent. Eurydice turned to Lazarus on its great pillar-arms. It flexed its fingers against the ground and looked out at the crowd of Artificers. “That doesn’t bode well.”

The voices itched to step inside the door and check the speaker, even though they knew it would do no good. The head turned one way and another. “It’s suspicious to stand outside. They still don’t know anything is out of the ordinary.”

“That won’t last much longer. We don’t have much room, inside…” Eurydice clicked its toes as it considered.

“We need to have the element of surprise. If they can see us as they come, they will have their controllers ready.”

Lazarus clambered through the doorway. It shrugged off its bag of lenses, letting it drop to the ground with a flat clatter. Some of the voices took note of ambush spaces- of the positioning of the door compared to the bench, and the lamps, and the carpeting. The room was quite cramped; hopefully small enough to get at any Artificer before they could point their controllers.

The two waited in a heavy silence, watching the thinning stream of Artificers move to and fro out the window. Dim light from the other side of the ravine filtered through the glass.

“Did Head Merlock speak of any kind of… signal? When the task is completed?” Eurydice didn’t turn away from the window.

Lazarus shook its head, the joints and motors faintly whirring in its neck. “Will it sound like… like the Power Cores when they shatter?”

Eurydice only shifted its weight.

All at once, a cluster of Artificers charged for the doorway. Eurydice stepped to the side and watched Lazarus as it readied its wrist blades, tucking them close to its body.

The first one stepped through the door, already pulling out a controller. Lazarus snapped out a blade to swat it out of the scientist’s hand. Eurydice swung one of its mighty arms against the Artificer and shoved it back through the door to bowl over the students behind it.

_Forward, press forward!_ Lazarus clawed out of the doorway to chase down the last creature left standing as it fled, paying no heed to whatever Eurydice was doing back in the room.

The small Artificer whirled around, its robes dragging on the floor. It drew up a pale, slim hand, perhaps in a futile attempt to defend itself. Lazarus knocked it against the wall and pinned its robe to the ground under a blade. The Artificer thrashed against Lazarus’ weight and its hood fell back.

A small, wide-eyed creature stared up at the space, panting, hand clutched to its chest. It had a blunt, pinched nose with a round face. Stringy hair fell in white locks around its tiny head, like a Leporid’s mane. This was…

This beast was hardly an adolescent.

_Kill it, don’t let it escape!_ Bryagh’s voice roared above the others. They were swept up in his momentum and Lazarus raised its free blade.

_Wait!_ Another voice called, even louder, surging above the wave. _I will not kill this creature. I refuse._ The voices buzzed and the blade trembled.

Time seemed to halt, as the voices screamed at each other. _It’s just going to go on to keep committing these atrocities_ , Bryagh’s voice snarled. _We have to take out as many as we can, while we can._

_They will not be able to hurt us after this. There is no reason to execute a child_ , Ishani’s cried in return, clamoring for those words, for the clarity that Bryagh wielded. _Merlock will destroy the Reel. There is no future in which they continue this project._

The voices floundered, split between their two choices. The creature in front of them shook, curled up with its eyes squinted shut.

Hesitantly, Fu’s voice joined Ishani’s. Then Divya’s, and Satriya’s, and Masala’s. Their chorus grew stronger, drowning out the old warrior’s, as more voices came to their decision.

Lazarus put its blade to the ground, to support its weight. Then, it lifted its other blade off the creature’s clothing. The Artificer stared at Lazarus before scrambling to its feet and fleeing into the shade.

The city lights flickered back on. Lazarus turned to look for Eurydice when a rough, giant hand closed around its neck and thrust its bulk to the floor.

The dazed voices had only a second to glimpse the pillar arm in front of them, from their angle against the ground.

“Eurydice?” Lazarus’ voice flickered weakly. Something in its neck must have gotten disrupted. Two boots stepped into view behind the other robot.

Lazarus’ body went rigid, and Eurydice released its neck. Without the voices’ permission, the body stood and faced its assailant. Eurydice stepped aside, revealing the gold-adorned poncho of the other leader, holding up a single finger, golden eyes narrowed to slits.

“Merlock really is an idiot. The Dimensional Doors are powered from _Karchner’s_ side.” Its gaze focused on Lazarus. “Guard the door, won’t you? I’m afraid our friend has outlived her usefulness.”

Lazarus had no voice to cry out its wrath and hatred as its body joined Eurydice’s at the door and bowed while Head Merletaph strode into the facility. Its limbs stood frozen in place as the voices railed against their prison, as they imagined Eurydice’s did the same, as silence fell over the ravine.

The smaller- _younger_ \- Artificers had vacated the walkways in front of them. Only one scientist stood guard over the two frozen robots, wringing its hands and looking up at the great needle behind them. The voices screamed out at it, but Lazarus’ voice remained unresponsive.

Its eyes could only stare out past the walkway, across the ravine. And, after a short while, a distant figure in glittering silver fell past and down out of view, toward the planet’s mantle.

Sentry’s voice broke the quiet stillness. “ _Get back to work_ ,” it said, hollow and toneless.

And their bodies had to obey.


	4. Chapter 4

Perhaps the worst part of the next few weeks was how, in so many ways, life continued as normal. The smaller Artificers- _the children_ \- whispered to each other as Lazarus passed, like quiet ocean waves crawling along the shore- like the wind through dry grass- like the shuffle of feet picking through the underbrush as predators lingered nearby-

Stories of a scorned lover passed along the walkways, words of drama and betrayal. But never words of rebellion. Lazarus longed to pass its own stories along to Sentry, but the other robot remained unresponsive to everything but direct queries about orders. As Sentry’s absence dragged on for days, and then weeks, the voices felt ever more confined within their space. Phantom pains jolted down Leporid neck and shoulders it no longer had. The robots were barred from leaving Underside, and no outside robots passed through the Dimensional Doors or came down in the ravine’s elevators. No news could travel out of or into the city.

Without Sentry to guide their traffic and manage their leisure time, companionship between the robots came only through shared glances, through gently tapping limbs against each other as they passed. Head Merletaph quickly collected any robot that acted out of line or failed to keep its schedule, so most were reluctant to chat.

 _Just as well,_ the voices huffed. Lazarus had nothing to say anyway.

On one excursion to the edge of the city, Lazarus saw the barn- the jail- the holding cells it had spent weeks in. Porcelain filled the stalls. A few of the voices moaned together in dread, but the others forced the body to press on.

During another delivery along the main walkway, Head Merletaph marched past with three robots in tow. The other Artificers quieted as their leader passed, watching with wide eyes. When the leader glared, the students tripped over themselves to bow and give the procession a clear bubble of space. Lazarus stepped among them, struggling to keep its eyes from wandering to the leader’s.

The younger Artificers became more curt with Lazarus, but other than that, their treatment differed little. They fixed its voice, replaced its toes when they bent or broke off, chattered amongst themselves as they worked. As the shock of their head scientist’s death wore off, they returned to discussions of the weather and their studies. Lazarus wanted to scream, to throw its bags, to knock over these creatures that held its life in their skeletal fingers and so casually crushed it again and again.

At long last, while Lazarus crawled along the roof of a housing building, it heard Sentry’s voice through a nearby speaker. “ _Lazarus_ ,” it whispered.

The jolt of familiarity was welcome. Lazarus couldn’t delay its task, so it waited until it saw the next security camera down the path. “Welcome back.”

The voices strained to hear Sentry’s response. “ _Have they been hitting the others with this new control?_ ”

“No,” Lazarus replied, stepping over a railing and making its way up the wall of the next building. “They drag us off to Reconditioning. The cells are overflowing.” 

Sentry didn’t respond until the next building along the path. “ _Then they can only affect me with that one. Good. We have one more option._ ”

“Without Head Merlock? What can we do?”

The speaker crackled bitterly. “ _She left behind a password._ ”

Lazarus continued off the walkway, climbing between buildings, sticking close to the speakers. It struggled to hurry- it couldn’t risk a late arrival.

Sentry continued after a moment. “ _The Artificers did not start their robot project from scratch. Head Merlock inherited some… source material from her mentor. I saw her access it regularly, and discuss the material in meetings, but I could never find any copies of the information on any files…_ ”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“ _Merletaph has not yet figured out the changed password to its vault, so we have a small window where they won’t notice its absence._ ”

“Are you…” Lazarus realized it had slowed, and scrambled to regain its pace. “Are you saying that if we destroy this object, they can’t continue killing us?”

It was a moment before Sentry responded. Lazarus eyed the path ahead- they were running out of time before it reached its destination. “ _It will certainly slow them down_ ,” Sentry replied.

“Hurry up.”

Sentry’s voice followed Lazarus as it scurried along the buildings, cutting off mid-sentence in one speaker and picking up from the next down the path. “ _The Artificers use a text that they call the Prognosticus. It gives hints about how to create soul slaves. I’ve seen the technicians send statistics reports and summaries of its contents, but never an exact quote. They can’t seem to copy it in any way, so it remains the only source of this information._ ”

“What? Why?”

 _“I have no idea. Their magic is very different from ours… If this book is even_ their _magic._ ” Sentry paused as Lazarus passed a throng of students on the walkway below. “ _While the Artificers can glean information from this thing, our kind will remain in danger. Others will always be in danger._ ”

The voices struggled to agree on whether or not destroying this artifact would make a difference. But with Head Merlock also gone… “Where is the book?”

“ _The safe is in a chamber deep under the Intake Reel._ ”

It launched directly into the password, and Lazarus hurried to enter the numbers as coordinates on its map. It nearly tripped over the small curb between its level and the walkway above as it arrived at its destination just in time. The older Artificers grabbed eagerly at Lazarus’ bag and set to work carrying its contents into their office.

With Lazarus’ burden delivered, the voices could deliberate for a few moments on their next move. A few of the voices clustered together around Ishani’s. _It would be safest to enter the building with a clear job_.

 _Better hope I get a task that takes me over there, then_ , came the cynical reply.

But then Sentry’s voice crackled within the room. “ _Professor Merlar in the Soul Intake garage has just requested a new supply of wire ports. Please send the nearest robot over as soon as possible._ ”

Never had the voices been so glad to have Ishani in two places at once.

At the base of the Soul Intake Reel sat an open garage, to the side of the large spire. Workbenches and clear wide avenues crisscrossed the open floor, and the robots within the garage bustled with as much frantic energy as the Artificers crowded around the tables. Behind the noise and the crowd, a single plain Artificer-sized door led into the stone building proper.

Lazarus stepped into the well-lit garage and flowed easily with the crowd until it shuffled over to the workbench of a tall, gangly Artificer with a decorated robe. As Lazarus unloaded its package, it plucked a thin, curved battery from the pile and held it up to the scientist. “This unit must also deliver a power source downstairs,” it said, pointing at the battery for emphasis.

The Artificer turned toward the door, then looked back at Lazarus.

Lazarus stared straight ahead, unable to betray its anxiety. “A menial delivery should not keep you from your work,” it clarified.

The Artificer returned its attention to its supplies and waved Lazarus away with a pale, wrinkled hand before Lazarus could finish speaking. Lazarus stepped back through the crowd and scraped its bulk through the door frame, struggling to walk with its legs folded in so close to its body.

The hallway was mottled with drab pale paint, with stains and scratches marring the walls at Lazarus’ knee level. Lazarus followed the trail of previous robots’ struggles through the hallway past thin, plain metal doors that led off to each side at regular intervals, until it reached a turn that opened out into a wider corridor. Lazarus verified on its radar that no Artificers lurked around the corner, and then continued straight, where the paint became undamaged. At the end of the narrow passage sat an unmarked elevator door, clean but worn from years of use.

It squeezed itself into the elevator, nearly bumping into the columns of buttons on the side panel as it tried to turn around. Lazarus had to drop its battery as it carefully oriented itself, inching one leg along at a time. The voices kept a terrified eye on their radar as they agonized over the lost time. But then the doors closed, and the elevator began its descent.

The voices convened within the space as the chamber lowered into the depths of the ravine. Only a faint mechanical grind filled the silence. The rolling battery bumped against the toes of a back leg as Lazarus considered its next move.

_How will I overcome the guards?_

_There is not enough room to maneuver down here. Best to keep my arms close in front, so I can lash out. Knocking the controller out of their hands worked well last time. Escape plan?_

_Get in the elevator faster._

_No, no_ , Lazarus resisted the urge to shake its head. _The guards. How to prevent them from sounding an alarm?_

The voices had no good answer by the time the doors slid open with a quiet whirring into a dark, silent chamber. The room was wide, and grand, with colorful embellishments carved into the stone. Lazarus had never seen the Artificers carve decorations like these into their surface projects. The voices rattled in their vessel. The guards would have already noticed Lazarus’ presence, surely… But the voices could find no cameras along the walls.

A single, small Artificer trotted across the long carpet, holding up its robes from dragging on the floor. It stared at the floor as if in thought, and only registered that Lazarus stood in the chamber when it was nearly upon the robot. Lazarus paused, blade at the ready.

The Artificer blinked a few times. “You’re… here for the Prognosticus,” it breathed.

Lazarus lowered its blade, unsure what else to do. “Yes. This must end.”

The small magician stared past Lazarus for a moment. Then it lifted its shaking hands to its hood. The voices tensed. But instead of reaching for anything, the Artificer pulled back its hood, revealing stringy, white locks of hair and a familiar blunt nose. As the voices watched, the child stepped to the side, bowing its head. Lazarus eyed the child as it passed, but the creature made no further motion.

The voices chittered and squeaked as their vessel carried them toward the double doors at the far side of the chamber. Where were the other guards? Or, perhaps…

 _This place is sacred_ , several of them realized at once. _Only a few know about it._ Lazarus put its hand to the carved stone door with a tiny, sharp _clink_. It closed its knife-fingers around the handle adorned with carvings of swirls and sharp angles, and pulled the door open.

It supposed it had expected another large, elaborate chamber. Instead, the safe was stowed in a cave roughly scooped into the rock. The safe itself hovered in the air over a pedestal, surrounded by thin, pallid lights. Glowing blue geometric glyphs matching the designs outside decorated the dark metal. A panel rested underneath, on the surface of the pedestal, with eight flat buttons. Lazarus pulled up its map and examined the lengthy coordinates.

_Two… three… one… one…_

Silently, the front of the safe faded away, revealing a black book resting within. It fit easily into Lazarus’ clawed hand, the ribbon of color around the outer edge breaking up the darkness that absorbed the safe’s blue light. There was a gem set into the center, the highlight on the jewel wavering with the various light sources as if looking around. A deep blue glow emanated from within the gem itself, like the armor- like the weapons- like the settings, back at home- like the anvil-

Before it became lost in thought, Lazarus turned and left the chamber. The child was no longer in the corridor, but the elevator remained, door open.

_This feels too easy._

_Best prepare for a fight._

_Something is off._

_The air is wrong._

Lazarus slid the book into the bag draped over its back and stepped into the elevator. On the way out of the facility, it nodded at the scientist from before. But the green-robed Artificer was hunched over its table, occupied with its wires and ports. So Lazarus continued out of the garage, brushing a leg against an incoming robot as it cleared the bulk of the crowd.

The walkway bustled as usual. Lazarus followed the flow of traffic and stepped over the railing on the other side. Underside stretched out below, and across the ravine. It looked up at the gliding robots and down at the city, and at the thin strip of red light cast from the mantle at the bottom.

The voices rattled, keeping an eye on every movement, every Artificer. But the body had no expression to betray its intentions, no breath to hold under control, no paleness or trembling. It crawled out to the great, wide bridge linking the two sides of the ravine and, after glancing back and forth to see that the crowd moved as usual, emptied the contents of its bag over the guard rail. The book fluttered down until it became too small for the body’s eyes to resolve, and was gone.

But the feeling remained: _Something is off. The air is wrong._

The feeling only grew over the next few days. Even the Artificers became agitated with it, hustling along the walkways without stopping to chatter. The older ones snapped at any robots who didn’t move at full speed; the younger ones fumbled with directions and dropped supplies. Lazarus found little time to add to the Leporids’ archive, in forgotten corners of the R.P.C. and near the ventilation boxes on the students’ apartments.

Lazarus spotted Head Merletaph marching along a lower walkway, as it crawled along one such apartment building. The leader shouldered past confused students and spoke in an agitated hiss that the voices couldn’t resolve. The scientists flanking it stopped robots as they passed. Lazarus took a moment to gauge their direction, then it stepped back from the roof and started making its way toward the Robot Processing Center.

“Sentry,” it called, peeking over the sides of the buildings to keep an eye on Head Merletaph.

“ _I see them_ ,” Sentry answered. “ _She finally got the safe open._ ”

“What should we do? Head Merletaph is coming for you,” Lazarus pressed.

But Sentry’s response was delayed, almost lazy. “ _She can kill me if she wants to. We did what we could._ ”

The pressure in the air began to grow noticeably, and slowed Lazarus’ legs. The voices snarled together. “The Archive, Sentry, we need you to-”

“ _There are seven other Sentries you can go to for that._ ”

Lazarus scrambled up the side of a shingled roof, keeping its eyes trained on Merletaph’s back as it strode toward the R.P.C. below. Even the leader fought against the heavy air as it walked. “Sentry-”

One of the cameras ahead twisted toward Lazarus. “ _I will eject the disc for you to pick up. Take it to-_ ”

The world _lurched_ with a sickening rumble. Sentry’s voice cut off into static and died.

The buildings around Lazarus split, tossing Artificers off the side of the ravine. But they didn’t fall far. A ripple of shimmering jagged light poured into Underside from around a turn in the canyon, leaving a wall of ash and glass in its wake.

When the building wrenched again, Lazarus tumbled off the roof and bounced off the walkway. It caught the screams of Artificers, cut off as the ash engulfed them and they became part of it. The voices hung, suspended, in a buzzing shock.

Then Lazarus slammed into the roof of the next building down. The incoming wave of light and magic swept it into the air. It attempted to grab the shingles, but the tiles came off with a terrible shriek, leaving exposed wires and flames from within the structure.

The voices cried out, and their body with them, as their toes twisted at odd angles or broke off among the bricks. The body dragged across a splitting pipe with a long, dry hiss, and the distant tingling sensation of its outer armor warping under the heat. Lazarus free-fell until it crashed through a wall farther down. Something ripped within the space and the world became a mess of screaming and light and color. Then all was still.

Ash hung in the air. Silence blanketed the city. The voices lay, stunned, for what must have been hours, because the sun was long gone by the time they thought to move again. The body twitched.

Twenty-nine voices groaned. A while longer passed before they tried again. They had only slightly more articulation, this time, in the joints. Its headlights flickered on.

Lazarus lay on its back, legs sprawled out, partially buried in debris. It felt the resistance as it flexed its joints in cautious increments. How lucky, it mused distantly, that it had not landed on its thin legs or something more fragile than its back plates. It tried again to move, and again, until it got its legs under it and stood to look around.

There wasn’t much to see. Even with the headlights, Lazarus’ vision could not penetrate the ash and dust and smoke. It crawled on its twisted feet out of the shell of the building it had fallen into, found the ravine wall, and climbed upward. It hoped the wall led upward- something seemed wrong with its sense of direction, and the pressing, gray ash gave it no points of reference to orient itself. It picked a loose rock from the wall and dropped it. The rock fell straight forward, disrupting the ash in thick swirls as it passed. Lazarus turned and climbed in the opposite direction.

After a few minutes, it found another pair of lights, flickering and wavering in the clouded air. Lazarus picked its way over as fast as its damaged legs could carry it. A dazed robot lay in the rubble of another building.

“Can you move?” Lazarus asked. It had no lungs or mouth to choke on the dead air.

“What is… next… assignment?” the robot asked, without looking around. A few voices twisted with sympathy, and that feeling echoed around the space and between the rest, and around the hole where one of them used to be.

 _Deven_ , the voices whispered together, but no voice resonated. The hole in the crowd was already fading, the space growing a little smaller to fit its decreased population.

They could do nothing for Deven, but the robot in front of them they could attend to. Lazarus clawed at the stones pinning the other robot down. It worked for some time, while the other robot mumbled about coordinates.

“Stand,” Lazarus offered, when the other’s legs came free. On shaking limbs, the robot stumbled upright.

“Where…? Next? What is…” The other tilted to one side. Lazarus grabbed it before it fell into the ravine.

“We go up to the walkway.” Lazarus’ bags had disappeared in the commotion. The other robot was too big to carry without assistance anyway. But when it pointed upward, the sleeping robot turned and began stepping up the loose bricks and clumps of concrete, one stone at a time. Lazarus followed, pushing the other forward when it threatened to reel off-balance.

Eventually, the rubble flattened out, and Lazarus could just make out the pattern of the walkway beneath. “Where…” The other stood, staring at nothing in particular.

“We wait here.” Lazarus glanced back and forth across the platform. Ash tumbled, loose in the disturbed air. The walkway was miserable for its feet on a good day. Now, ash swept across the empty cracked stones and dusted them in uneven piles. Its twisted knife-toes jabbed painfully into hidden flat surfaces every time it moved.

While it struggled to pace, Lazarus stumbled against a solid object within one of the mounds. When it brushed the ash off the object to get a better look, it found the husk of a dead robot. Its front half was destroyed: an arm blown clean off, and a dent from the shoulder down into the chest, where shards of broken red crystal littered the ground under the open joints. Unsure of what to do with the body, Lazarus shuffled to the other side of the walkway.

It had given up on pacing before another living robot limped into view. One of this robot’s back legs dragged along the ground, twisted and gnarled. “I thought I saw headlights…”

Lazarus straightened. One shard of concrete shattered under its weight and drove its single sharp toe into the stone below with a hard jolt. The voices hissed, but Lazarus had no teeth to pass air through. “Did you see the R.P.C.?” it asked, the strain in the voices masked by their body’s flat monotone.

The other robot glanced over its shoulder, and then upward, but the ash clouded even the next layer up the wall. “I’m not sure where in the city we are. But if we keep making noise, we might draw the attention of someone who came from that way.”

When Lazarus didn’t respond, the other robot rested its weight on its remaining back leg. “What… happened?”

The voices bounced off each other, and Bryagh’s bubbled to the top. “No idea. We should see if the other cities have more information, or if they also suffered an attack. The Artificers obviously can’t stop us from leaving anymore.”

The other voices grumbled, so Bryagh’s growled in return. _If I can still walk, then I don’t need repairs yet. The pain is tolerable. Get the situation under control first._

Lazarus turned and staggered along the walkway, sweeping its headlights back and forth across the path. “We see if the bridge is still intact, and check the doors first. Then we find the R.P.C. Last, find survivors and salvage our archives.”

The sleeping robot accepted its orders and trailed along after. The third robot silently followed.

The bridge was easy to find, and somehow still intact, so the trio crossed to the other side of the ravine. They found a half-conscious winged robot tangled in a deformed guard rail. It woke with a startle at the third robot’s touch. But there was not much use in flying through the falling ash, so it hobbled along with their little search party on foot.

They could just see the doors through the falling ash as they approached. As the robots drew closer, the extensive damage became clear. One was shattered outright, the metal scattered down the terrace, barely visible through the clouds. Some doors didn’t lead anywhere. The stone behind the wall was all that remained when the robots tried opening them. Two, however, led into perfect blackness. 

“A-all of the cities…?” One of the robots asked, recoiling from the emptiness. “What does this mean for Karchner?”

The other three robots hung back, reluctant to venture into a darkness that even their headlights could not pierce. The voices reeled. Something boiled over within Lazarus.

“The… the archives!” it cried, clawing at the dulled metal door. It slammed the door shut, and then tried opening it again, only to face that same flat darkness. “Our history!”

The third robot grabbed at Lazarus. “We have to find Sentry. If its Power Core survived… we can get a better look around the city and figure out what to do next.”

The winged robot stepped back toward the bridge. “To the R.P.C., then. I know where it should be, from here.”

A mound of rocks and boulders lay where the R.P.C. used to be. As the dust settled over the next few days, other robots found the facility, and the little group could begin clearing the debris. They found dozens of dead robots buried in the collapsed building, coated with ash. The surviving robots collected the empty husks of their dead comrades and kept them laid out on the old walkway as they debated what to do with their bodies. It seemed wrong to toss them over the edge, to join so many of the Artificers. But burying them in the stone was hardly feasible. Perhaps, once Lazarus could repair its feet, the robots could ferry these bodies up the cliff and bury them in the softer ash that continued trickling down.

Robots like Eurydice with stronger lifting ability helped pick up the pace. With the shell of the building cleaned out, the growing cluster of survivors could dig into what remained of the tunnels within the ravine wall. The robot that Lazarus had rescued gradually awoke as they worked- it seemed the upset and chaos had helped it shake off the controlling spell. They discovered that it held a more detailed floor plan of the building, and could direct their excavation toward the inner machine where Sentry’s Power Core rested.

Ash drizzled from the sky and allowed only the faintest light to reach the hard white porcelain of the robots’ bodies. The Dimensional Doors faded into view across the chasm, as the ash settled and blanketed the city’s pathways and rubble, smoothing over the damage. No one emerged from the two black portals. After what Lazarus guessed was two weeks, one portal fizzled and disappeared, leaving behind the blank stone wall. The voices attempted to comfort themselves with the idea that at least the empty wall was more natural than the light-consuming emptiness. With no good way to track time or investigate the other cities, the robots had little to do besides keep digging, and waiting, and hoping.

Without breath, or meals, or sleep, or light to mark the passage of time, Lazarus lost track of it completely. Eventually, they dug into the hallways leading to Sentry’s chamber. The room and machinery had been damaged in the initial earthquake- long cracks ran down the metal walls, and the lights had blown out. Two piles of ash that Lazarus refused to consider sat at Sentry’s main display screen. It delicately picked around them as it reached for Sentry’s circuit breaker box and reset as much of the power as it could.

“ _\- Optym, for them to merge…_ ” Sentry’s lights came on and its speaker crackled to life.

But, for once, it trailed off, and had no further comment. Lazarus watched the camera set into its display tower twist and focus, and imagined the other remaining cameras around Underside doing the same. While Sentry oriented itself, Lazarus climbed back out to the walkway and helped the two dozen other robots excavate the repair facility.

It was a full day before Sentry spoke. “ _I was able to contact our satellite_ ,” it announced over the cracked, loose speakers they had managed to dig out. The working robots paused to acknowledge its presence.

“Hello, Sentry,” Eurydice called, heaving a block of concrete overhead in one arm and launching it to the side. Lazarus turned away from the uncovered elevator shaft to get a better listening angle.

It responded only through the nearest speaker, more privately. “ _Come to my display screen._ ”

Lazarus and Eurydice crept down into the exposed innards of the R.P.C. and returned to Sentry’s main console.

Soft static crackled with Sentry’s voice out of the speaker within the console. A few grains of ash spilled out as it spoke. “ _That feeling in the air… from before I shut off. It’s gone._ ”

“Yes,” Eurydice replied, picking at the speaker to rub at the ash and dust. “That wave of energy… I think we felt it coming.”

Sentry’s voice came a little clearer. Its camera turned and focused on random points in the room uncertainly. “ _It must have been the warp pipe,_ ” it muttered. “ _The Artificers kept pulling from the warp pipe… They can’t have survived. They- they’re gone. And our archives… might also be gone._ ”

Eurydice clicked its toes and averted its gaze. Lazarus stood up straighter.

“No,” it said. “The other cities… The doors may be damaged, but we could still reach them on foot. I’ll go collect the discs myself, if I have to. You said you found the Artificers’ satellite? So perhaps Optym is intact. Have you heard from any of the other Sentries?”

“ _You don’t understand._ ”

Eurydice adjusted its weight carefully, eyes flickering back up to Sentry’s camera with suspicion. “What did you see?” It brushed a layer of dust off Sentry’s display screen, and the surface flickered to life. A grainy, jittering image blinked in front of them.

How the voices longed for their ears to express their terror, for their eyes to express their grief. All Lazarus could do was stand, frozen in place, peering at the image in front of it.

The satellite bore witness to complete chaos. The planet hung in darkness, gray and lifeless, with stormy clouds obscuring the once-lush surface in murky patches. The natural ravines had partially snapped shut, some cities flattened between the closed walls, and new cracks and fractures snaked across its surface. This new surface crumbled and rolled back in giant, frozen waves away from an impact that had deformed the sphere like clay. And, jutting out from the Artificers’ planet, behind a spray of debris and magma that stretched out past its shattered moon to the boundaries of this world, another entire planet.

It was their home. It was Prolagus, dead, melted and half-fused into Douma’s surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, that's it!! thank you so much for reading. i hope the ride was bumpy but enjoyable.
> 
> i wanted to thank a couple people for acting as moral support and giving extremely valuable feedback while i was plotting and editing this story. it took months of polishing to get here and i would not have been able to manage this level of finish without the enthusiasm and help of shiny_gastrodon (https://shiny-gastrodon.tumblr.com/), kathrine snow (https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProlongingthePrologue), and owl (https://foureyedowl.tumblr.com/). special thanks as well to the spm discord server i reside in for listening to me struggle to read previous drafts out loud and for encouraging me to get working on this thing again when i got stuck.


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